


Underfell

by cyclops



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Underfell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5059627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyclops/pseuds/cyclops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from Underfell, an AU in which Undertale characters are intrinsically focused on the death of all humans that wander into the monster-filled Underground. A scared but brave little boy, Frisk, attempts to befriend everyone that would do him harm, with the help of an intelligent, helpful flower: Flowey. In this dark, dismal skew of the Underground, these companions will need more than just luck. </p><p>They will need determination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (Scene I, Part 1) Followed

He swore he could still he could still hear scratching on the other side of the door.

Frisk had been there for a little while now, curled up into a little ball. The way that it tried to scare him was really what made him more upset than anything. It was obvious that it had some semblance of intelligence before, and that at one point it had some form of conscience. The shreds of what remained, all tangled up now, scratching at the door, is what he was afraid of. Crumpled together into whatever that thing was, hissing and crying. They were tortured, and by what, Frisk could not understand. Frisk didn’t care to understand. He just wanted to go home.

He did have one friend, however. It sat in a tipped-over flower pot in front of him. It told him that his name was Flowey; it was a once-beautiful golden flower that promised him that it would do its best to get him out of the underground. It was sincere, the boy knew that. He knew, as the flower seemed to repeat back Frisk’s own brand of absolute sincerity, the kind that comes from a very frightened child. Of course, something like this resounded with the boy’s soul, and, wanting to help, took the flower with him. Frisk couldn’t leave it there, forlorn and without a friend. Especially since now, Flowey was the only friend that the boy had. And it talked to him as he sat there, back against the door he just struggled to wrestle shut from the creature that stalked him throughout the ruins. It tried to comfort him, even though he was scared too.

“Frisk, w-we should keep going.” It resolved. Frisk let out a mumble of a sob, as the flower drooped a bit with an expression of outward warmth, “it’s alright, I’m here to help you, okay?”

The scared little boy wiped the tears away, looking at Flowey from above his knees. They looked at each other for a moment. They relied on each other to stay determined, and Frisk knew this. Flowey knew this. Having a friend amidst this insanity would help them both cope.

Frisk nodded, “’M okay.” He pushed off the ground and unsteadily brought himself to his knees in front of Flowey’s pot, carefully scooping the dirt back inside. He sat the flower pot upright, patting down the loose dirt and making sure everything was in order. He used it to boost himself to his feet before picking it up and holding it close to him. He looked at Flowey, they both gave each other a sad little smile. The boy then soldiered on through the freezing woods with soft feet.

There was a tiny path through the woods ahead of them. It looked moreso like a little snowy impression in between the dead-looking trees, but it at least gave them a vague direction to walk in. The snow came up to the tops of Frisk’s boots, fortunately not piling over and into them. The trees were taller than either of them could imagine, like thin, gray towers evenly spaced apart. There were hundreds that both of them could see, the fog washed over the forest further away from them, limiting their vision. Frisk would intermittently babble very quietly about shapes moving out there, but Flowey would just as frequently tell him that it was nothing, and to please stop worrying because it was making him worried. Over the whole area hung a deep feeling of mystery, however there was the unmistakable feeling of dread mixed in there as well. Both the monster and the child’s bodies were filled with apprehension, like at any moment something would happen.

Unfortunately both of them saw it as an inevitability.

It was cold. Far colder than inside the ruins. Both of them could see each others breathing patterns drift out of their mouths like warm apparitions, then dissipate as quickly as they appeared. Frisk stopped.

Something stopped behind him.

He bolted around, gripping the flower pot tightly and straining his eyes against the frigid air.

Nothing there.

He picked up the pace as Flowey’s head darted in eight different directions, making sure that they weren’t being followed. The breath poured out of the duo now, from both exertion as well as fear. Frisk and Flowey both heard it. Frisk’s boots crunching through the snow was a familiar sound to both of them, and the stopping of… whatever that was was much further away. Probably something like ten feet behind them. The fog seemed to close in, but it was just a trick of their eyes. Hopefully. Frisk stopped again.

A giggle ended.

Frisk found himself running. He was being hunted again. Something was out there, waiting to jump out and take him. Something was among the sea of dead trees, relishing in the duos torment. Flowey was still looking for whatever it was. Frisk looked down, the raspy giggling starting up again.

“Frisk!” Flowey shrieked.

Footprints, two sets. That’s when he lost his footing and fell into the snow. The flower pot landed underneath him. Flowey, luckily, was fine, merely pinned beneath Frisk’s body. The snow had provided a little bit of shock absorption for the flower pot against Frisk’s weight as well, only breaking a bit of the top off. The boy very quickly realized what happened and rolled off of it. He then sat up, looking around frantically. There was definitely a voice out there. It was scarce more than a whisper, but it was clear:

“have a nice trip kid?”

It would have been hilariously funny if Frisk didn’t fear for his life. Flowey groaned next to him. Frisk grabbed the flower pot to his chest again. He wasn’t about to stick around and find out what the punch-line was, so bolting up out of pure adrenalin he turned and kept walking, Flowey in tow. He realized, in his own childlike way, that running through nearly knee-high wasn’t the smartest idea.  He slowed it down to a careful trod, being very observant of where he was stepping and his own balance. Falling again would be the last thing he did. His face was hot from the snowy impact and obstinate determination.

Suddenly, a flash of crimson from out in the fog. It was so fast Flowey didn’t even have time to react, all he got out was a little shriek. Frisk was pelted in the side by a ball of snow. It stung, only amplified by how cold it was in the forest to begin with. Another laugh. Frisk kept going, teeth grinding together from the pain and purity of will.

“awww, no fun. i thought kids liked having fun? what the hell?”

Flowey yelled as Frisk huffed and puffed from exertion, “Show yourself at least, instead of hiding and throwing stuff at us!”

For a second the only sound was the firm crunching of snow.

“nah.” Another flash of red, this time behind the pair. Another snowball caught Frisk square in the back of the head. This one was thrown much harder, as the boy’s face instantly scrunched up with pain. He dropped the flower pot in the snow, reaching behind his head to feel where the snowball had hit. It stung worse than the first as well. It was like a million little shards of glass had been balled up and shot towards his head. He felt warm tears start to dribble down his face.

“Stop.” He pleaded, whimpering.

The fog was much closer now, it conformed to the cold air around it, moving every which way lazily. It didn’t seem to want to settle.

“alright.” Another flash of red, the force of the snowball to the gut knocked Frisk over. The wind was knocked out of him, and he struggled to take in breath. The snowball was launched from right in front of him, as his assailant finally stepped out of the fog in front of them. Frisk was doubled over in pain, but Flowey saw him. He even recognized him. Out from the shadows stepped a short, stocky skeleton. Its dark eye socket emanating a crimson iris from within, looking hazy due to the ample fog still in the way. His empty, jagged smile sent a haunting chill throughout the flower’s body; even with the distance,  he was still able to make out that one, dull golden tooth. He wore a dark, fur-lined jacket with the hood up and over his skull. Similarly, he wore dark shorts with a streak of yellow on the side, as well as a pair of red shoes. At present, his hands were crammed into his coat pockets, giving him the image of looking aloof. Perhaps he was. The skeleton took another step forward and soon, he was slowly hobbling over to them.

Frisk sat up, yelping at the sight of the creature getting closer to them. He sharply inhaled, his head and his gut on fire from the attacks. Grabbing Flowey in front of him, he slowly took to his feet once more. The skeleton picked up the pace ever so slightly, now only mere feet away.

Frisk edged backwards, “Stop!”

The skeleton was in front of him. Frisk could see that his teeth were sharp. Sharp and gnarled. The feeling of pure hostility crashed into him like a wave. Pure hatred. It felt unnatural.

The skeleton held out a hand, “idiot human,” He began, eye piercing what felt like Frisk’s very soul, “d-don’t you know how to greet a new, cool, pal?”  


	2. (Scene I, Part 2) Determination doesn't keep you warm.

The boy could not hide how frightened he was.  

A nervous sweat began to form on his brow, the monster searing him with his red gaze. The frightened child tightened his grip on Flowey until his knuckles were white, the ceramic rough against his freezing fingers. Flowey fought to keep a level head, tiny slivers of anxiety coagulating in the back of his mind. He was a little suspicious of the skeleton’s behavior. There was hatred there, there was no mistaking that. However, there was also a trace of something else. Doubt? Probably not. 

The skeleton’s sneer deepened, “what’s wrong kiddo? dont'cha know anything about proper m-manners?” He gave up the gesture with a lengthy chortle, shaking his skull, “fuckin idiot. Typical h-human.” The thing inched closer, its eye flashing murderously. Frisk recoiled backwards. He wanted to keep his distance, but was unsure that it was going to be possible soon.

There it was again. He couldn’t really put any sort of meaning to it, but this time he was sure that it happened. It was something about the way that he presented himself to the two that didn’t feel totally believable. A crack in his voice. The flower knew he needed to be right about this at the risk of putting the little boy in danger. And himself as well.

Steadying himself, Flowey spoke up. He injected a jeer.

“What are you supposed to be?”

Snowflakes gently touched down around them. Silence and tension filled the air.

The reaction was quick. The roaring skeleton palmed the flower pot out of Frisk’s hand with one hand and with the other grabbed him by the sweater. Frisk let out a startled cry as the monster pushed him against a nearby tree, furious, “j-just who the FUCK,” he yelled, slamming him against the frozen bark, “d-d-do you think you are, you little f-fucking punk?” His head was so close to the boy’s that Frisk could feel the warmness of the monster’s strained breath on his face, and to his disdain, smell it as well. The red eye quivered a bit in its socket. The ruddiness of Frisk’s cheeks were forced to a blood-red color as the light from the venomous eye flooded his face. The boy whimpered, sobs breaking free from his lungs at last. He attempted to sidle his head to the side to avoid the monster’s sadistic look, but that only prompted the thing to grab his face forcefully with a bony hand. It was icy. He held it in place in front of him, scrunching his cheeks together.

“f- _fff_ ucking pathetic.” He laughed again, “kids these days.”

Flowey could only watch helplessly. He knew now he was right, but in the worst possible way. The monster was insecure. What he did not count on, however, was how violently insecure he was. If he had a breakdown of this magnitude now, the flower could not imagine what goading him further would yield. He needed to help Frisk. It was not his fault, it was the flower’s. He got his friend into a lot of trouble just to test a theory.

“Don’t hurt him, please! I’m sorry!” Flowey shrieked in a fit of courage, air catching in his throat, _“Please!”_

The skeleton gave the child a confused look, which changed to frustration with a beat of Frisk’s hammering heart. He turned from where he had attacked Frisk, looking around for a face to put to the voice. The wildly moving flower in the snow caught his glare. He let the boy fall to the ground before walking over to it. The steady krnch krnch krnch resounded through the forest as he walked. Now it was the flower’s turn to be scared. The skeleton knelt in front of it. Flowey couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

“a flower huh? dumb as f-fuck.” The grin widened ostensibly, “tell me mister flower, you think you got somethin’ t'say that might make me not wanna k-kill this little motherfucker? Cuz nothin’ comes t'mind for me.” Everything seemed to be funny to the monster. It elicited another rough chuckle.

Flowey grimaced at the word ‘kill’, “No! P-please don’t hurt him. He didn’t do anything to you!”

“Eh, well,” The monster shrugged, “you really can’t tell me what to d-do huh? oh, and-” He struck his hand out, grabbing onto one of Flowey’s golden petals. Flowey howled in pain as he forcefully ripped it out, inspecting it for a moment before speaking again, “fuck you.” And blew it in the flower’s face.

Frisk cowered as the skeleton turned towards him. The cold snow melted underneath his grasp as he desperately tried to think of anything that stall the creature or provide enough distraction for him to make a run for it. It was much harder to think, unsurprisingly, with his life on the line. The creature approached. He had to run. It was almost to him. He needed to get out of here. It was close. He had to try something. It stopped in front of him and stooped to look him in the eyes.

He grasped a handful of his escape. It filled him with determination.

“f-finally, we can get out of this miserable place.” The thing looked crazy, it would kill him. It reached out.

With all of his strength, he plunged the snow deep into the creature’s eye-socket. Without waiting for a reaction, Frisk sprang from his position and pushed the monster to the ground. Something screeched a curse relatively close. The child rushed over his stretched body, finding Flowey on the ground. He scooped him into the flower pot before darting a different direction deeper into the woods, away from the path. The cold air rushed past him in troves, freezing his hands as he gripped his friend. He couldn’t run from the skeleton. He knew that much was useless.

He needed to hide.


	3. (Scene I, Part 3) Grey

There were tears mixed in with the melted snow.

Sans was fuming. The little shit had made a mockery of him, shoving snow in his sensitive eye socket, pushing him into the snow; just who the hell did he think he was? Who did he think Sans was? The skeleton mumbled to himself all sorts of vile curses and expletives, every single one that he could think of in his anger-addled cranium to describe the little boy. He didn’t care for the mouthy flower, but he threw some in there for them as well. He clutched at his abused eye-socket tenderly, hatefully thinking of the humiliation and shame of the kid escaping him.

As if he really gave a shit about catching him anyways; the loser could freeze to death in the woods for all Sans cared. Even so, his brother Papyrus would not let him go with this sort of defeat. This was the first human to show up in the Underground for ages. Or at least as long as Sans could remember. His brother had been patiently biding his time for this, brooding endlessly. He was a cold sort. He forced the citizens of the nearby settlement of Snowdin to construct all manners of elaborate traps and ambushes. It was an ambitious move, but luckily enough the town succumbed eventually. Papyrus ruled with fear above all else, and Sans was there, too. He knew how much the human meant to his brother, so he couldn’t afford to not care anymore. The royal guard: the elite group of warriors tasked with protecting the king of the realm; catching the boy would guarantee a position within it, something Papyrus had dreamed since they were young. So many years of pining for recognition. So many years of ice-cold resolve, want, orders, hurt–

Sans needed to catch the little fucker. His body seared.

He pushed himself to his feet, eye still burning with cold. He was already sick of this shit. For just a moment, he imagined the thrill of wringing the child’s neck. His smile seemed to grow wider as he began his trek into the woods, following the tiny footsteps.

He cracked his knuckles, leaving a dull pain that lingered for a couple moments. He shoved his hands back into the pockets of his coat. His own brother, in the royal guard… Sans imagined the benefits that must come with such a esteemed rank; for people he knew that held such a rank. Probably limitless. He just wished he wasn’t the one who had to do all of the work. Work wasn’t really suited to him, but he oh-so enjoyed the benefits. Being able to trounce around Snowdin, take what he wanted, do what he wanted; it was exciting. It was so  _him_. He wouldn’t give that up for anything, the feeling of constant adoration from people. And of course, once his brother was in the royal guard, who would be left to rule Snowdin? Exactly. It was a thought so delicious it made Sans sweat. He thumbed the ring on his finger, turning it over and over again. Sans, lord of Snowdin. It had an almost divine tone to it, Sans could hear the choir from afar. Sweat poured down his face, eye aflame.  _He would hear that fucking choir, even if he had to_ rip _the song out of them. They would love him._

He buffered his golden tooth with a sleeve, ambling through the deep drifts of snow. This kid was the key to all that. The pawns are always lost in the game of life; they get in the way of the other pieces.

The footprints curved here. Sans glanced to the right, expecting to see something. A crying, soiled child perhaps? The corners of his mouth pulled. No such luck. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a sleeve. More snow and more footprints, the skeleton felt himself beginning to get frustrated. How far did the shithead fucking  _go?_ He continued on, fantasizing about all manners of pain and torture on the kid.

After a while of watching his breath make interesting patterns in the air, he stopped. The footprints ended. They ended right there, next to one of the frozen trees. What kind of trick was this? Now he was mad, the little shit just kept pushing him. Eventually he was going to  _snap_.

“where the f- _fffuck_  are you kid?” He shouted roughly, looking around the wasteland, “you’re annoying to chase, j-just give the fuck up!”

He heard a breath stifle out, as if someone was trying to hold it in. He couldn’t imagine something like that.

“i-i will level this fuckin’ place, shithead! you c-can’t run forever!” His hands glowed red, clenched into fists.

The breeze carried a sprinkling of dusty snow through the place. There was a half-second of silence, then, a flurry of movement. Snow was kicked around.

“Yah!”

_CRACK._

Pain shot through him. Agonizing, excruciating pain as the child swung the branch with all his might and determination at Sans’ leg. It felt like it had exploded. He imagined the splintering of his bone, shards flying in every direction, leaving patterns in the driven snow. With a hideous cry, he collapsed to his knees. He tried in vain to grab onto the tree as he fell, but with no traction on his smooth, bony fingers, he slipped and fell straight into the snow with a  _whump_. He couldn’t tell if anything was broken or not.

The little boy came around him, wielding a branch, already wound up and ready to swing. He planted himself right in front of Sans. Though the boy looked haggard and frail, Sans could see it. It was radiating softly, a glorious crimson; his soul. He could have reached out and touched it. A dark stain spread through the kid’s pants as he stood there defiantly. His expression was adamant, though Sans knew he was scared. With the staggering force of that attack, Sans was feeling it as well in his nonexistent gut. The sweat came more profusely. He chuckled, a bit of trouble attaching itself to it.

“ _nice_ ,” he started, “ya c-came right to me.” It seemed the direness of the situation was lost on him.

The boy spoke. More calmly than what seemed possible. “I don’ wanna hurt you.” He emphasized this with a slow shake of his head.

Sans scoffed even louder, “n-no? that’s great, kiddo. jus’ fffuckin’ f- _fantastic_. you gotta lotta balls, fuck-face.  _idiot._  i c-could chew you up and spit you out, hurt ‘r n-n-not.”

He heard the flower somewhere near him, rattling away, “Frisk! We need to go! Leave him!”

Frisk narrowed his eyes at the skeleton, “Not yet. ’M not done.”

Sans tooth glinted a bit, “damn right you’re not, loser. you th-think i’ll just let you get away this time? no m-more cheap-shots, fucker.” Some sweat dripped onto his jacket, he pointed at Frisk with a ringed finger, “you’re f-fuckin  _mine_.”

Frisk still held the branch, arms wobbling ever so slightly. He tightened his grip and shifted a bit. Sans flinched, thinking the boy would take a swing at his skull.

“Wha’s your name?”

The question came as a shock to Sans. He wanted to know his name? What the fuck? Was this 'Frisk’ kid seriously mentally handicapped or something? Why the hell would he even care? Whatever, lameness could be cruel, and he might as well oblige it.

“sans, but you can call me 'your highness’ or ’m-master’, i accept b-both” Sans grunted, shrugging, “i’ll take 'lord sans’, too.”

The wind picked up again, running through the boy’s long hair for a moment, “Sans? ’S a cool name. ’S nice.” The hint of a smile cracked the boy’s dry lips. Though it was swiftly replaced by the old stony expression as he righted himself.

Sans was stricken for a second. He thought about a witty reply to what was just said. He thought about every single possible swear word, curse, expletive, everything. Nothing came to mind immediately. It’s as if his mind was dunked into cold water. It was soothing, almost. Calm. It wasn’t a feeling he got to experience all too often. It was something that, even though he didn’t realize it now, he rarely ever got genuinely. It wasn’t some fake, “we love you Sans,” or “you’re the best Sans.” It was something more primal, more… fulfilling. It reverberated in his body: the feeling of validation. He wiped the sweat away again, sneering.

His voice was noticeably higher, “who gives a fuck wh… what you think is 'cool,’ kid? you’re so fuckin’ pppathetic it’s hilarious. did the  _slave_ ,” he spat the word, “f-forget who’s in charge here?”

Frisk scowled. The flower interjected, “Frisk, come on! He’s dangerous! Nothing you say will make him not want to murder us.” The sad end note fell like a cold blow.

Frisk peeked behind the tree over his shoulder, “No, Flowey. I can’t.” He focused back on the skeleton in front of him, “He'snot a bad guy. Need ta stay.”  

Sans sputtered a bit, in awe. The kid really was an idiot. To claim that the skeleton was some sort of villain in need of moral improvement? Maybe he needed his eyes checked. Sans was loved! His brother loved him! People loved him! It was all a bunch of bullshit to claim otherwise. Sans knew this, he didn’t need some preachy fucking self-righteous toddler to tell him what he  _was_. Everyone liked him!  _Everyone_ would _like him, he would make sure of it._

“kid…” Sans let out a hearty laugh to the woods and sky above him, he was flustered more than ever, “you r-rea _lllll_ y are a fuckin’ character, ya k-know that? you d-don’t need to remind me of shit i already know, aite? i have friends, and a–” Wait. He didn’t need to prove anything to this kid, “ _ffuck_  you, actually.”

Uncertainty. Almost totally undetectable, possibly even subconscious.

Frisk’s frown deepened, “D'snt sound like it.”

'Doesn’t sound like it?’ Sans felt rage begin to build like a clot in the back of his mind. Nobody talked like that to him and got away with it for free. This kid was an idiot! A freak! He didn’t have any friends other than that shitty goddamn flower. Sans grit his teeth, eye flaring.

Suddenly, he lashed out in silent anger, trying to make a grab at Frisk. The kid yelped and jumped back. Pain flushed through his leg once more. He grazed the kid’s sweater with a couple of fingers, unable to get a hold on him. To add insult to injury, his wounded leg would not move with him, landing him face-down in the snow with a  _pfff_ , hand still outstretched. This was embarrassing, he couldn’t even catch the boy by surprise. Sans couldn’t think of a time in his life where he had been treated like a joke. All the times Papyrus would yell at him and strike him were close seconds, but this was definitely the worst.

Sans pushed himself back up. If looks could kill.

“don’t try t-to act like you… you know… y-you don’t know shit ab-bout me kid. cuz ya don’t, and it won’t matter anyways once you’re d-dead.”

“Why?”

“cuz you’re a h-hhuman, a-all humans die down here.”

Frisk’s eyes widened, “No! I don’ wanna die. Stop sayin’ that.”

“o-of course ya don’t. does anyone c-care?” He feigned looking around, “nope.”

The flower piped up, “I care. Frisk, please, I’m begging you.  He’s not worth it, and you’re wasting your time.” It sounded defeated.

Sans forgot the flower, now he really did look like a dope. Wait, why did he care about how he looked in front of the human anyways? It was pointless if they were just going to die. And they were, he hoped. He noticed a glistening on the child’s cheeks, it wasn’t there before. It seemed like the whole prospect of death, eventuality, and mortality hit the kid head-on.

“Why do ya wanna kill me?” Frisk’s voice cracked as he said this, “I jus’ wanna go home. I want mommy 'n dad 'n sissy.”

Something resonated deep within Sans. It wasn’t viciousness or cruelty. In fact, Sans couldn’t even really fully respond to what Frisk had just told him. This entire conversation, as the skeleton had tried to deflect or solidify his rudeness, everything the child said just came as a constant shock to him. Everything was so authentic, like it was all coming directly from the heart, like it was indisputable fact. Sans tried to remember a time in which someone had ever spoken to him like that. Tried to think of anyone, just anyone that actually cared for him. But nobody came. He always imagined his brother would, when he finally did his job and caught a human. All of the preparations they both made to make sure that would happen. All the yelling and self-loathing. All of the people in that town. Working for him, and Sans wondered, were they scared? Doubt and pity flooded through Sans, making him rattle and shiver. What the fuck was the kid’s deal? Why was he making him feel like this? He tried to push all of it to the side, his expression cracking the tiniest bit. The kid would see that, he knew. No, there’s no way.

_I’ll fucking kill him myself. Damned brat. Then he’ll fucking_ know.

“k-kid, jus’ b-between you an’ me,” Sans rose to his feet, still in pain, eye flickering faintly. It was too late, the doubt had taken root, but he resisted anyways, “i-i… uh. i… d-d-don’t c-care.”

He rose a bony hand, and Frisk’s expression turned afraid as the stick he held started glowing red. With a wave from Sans, it forcefully flew itself out of his hands. He watched it go, disappearing into the fog. The boy shrunk back from Sans, all of the courage from before was gone. He was tired and scared, the monster knew. This would be easy, all he had to do was capture him. It would be easy.

But now, even now, with the tables turned, Sans found himself anxious as well.

Because now, especially now.

Frisk’s soul shined as brilliantly as a star.

 


	4. (Scene I, Part 4) Fracture

The fear fell on him like blankets of freezing water. Courage dwindling away with each second, the monster stood there menacingly as could be mustered in his flimsy state. Eye ablaze, angled on his one good leg, still smiling his grotesque, gilded smile. The wind howled somewhere. The fog could not seem to settle. Frisk didn't have anything to protect himself with anymore. The fear had clouded his mind so generously that it was almost impossible to think. He had been so determined before, but now it drained out of him like a plug ripped out of a warm bath, leaving only a scared child as the aggressive air claimed his vulnerable body once more. He didn't want to fight, he didn't know _how_ to fight. In the ruins he was lucky enough to have an exit, a way out. Now, he was surrounded on all sides by a vast expanse of gray and white. What could he do to survive? Maybe it wasn't too late to reason with Sans, convince him that what he was doing was wrong. That the child was innocent, intentions pure. He fought against his chattering teeth to speak. He wasn't sure what to say, so he simply just said what was on his mind. The thing that raged through his body, his own personal demon.

“P-please dn't hurt me.” Frisk stammered.

Sans' eye flicked away to an area next to Frisk, before returning to leer at the boy. He still had doubts, though his mind still ached with wrath. Why was the kid so fucking pitiful? As hard as he tried, he couldn't erase the uncertainty that stuck around him like a sinful odor. He rattled a bit, slightly forcing out a retort.

Feigning sympathy, “'m not gonna hurt ya, k-kid,” Then turned to shouting, “'m gonna go all the way a-an' _fuckin' kill ya_! Fuck your st-stupid soul!” He pointed at Frisk, finger shaking, “An' f-f- _fff_ uck you for makin' me look like some sorta goddamn _chump_!”

Frisk seemed to recoil from every venomous word that Sans said. Maybe he was irredeemable. Maybe it was impossible to change his outlook. It was clear to Frisk that the skeleton was, indeed, suffering horribly. Every word, varnished with some cynicism, was almost rehearsed. Like he had practiced a few set phrases and still was unable to solidify their intended impact on whoever he was speaking to. He stuttered, he wheezed, and he choked his defiance out of himself. Frisk felt sympathetic, yes, but also could not deny that the monster was dangerous. It seemed there was no other option other than to... No.

There was always another option.

“you c-can't get away with fuckin' with my _head_ y-y... you st-stupid little _fuck_! so i'll settle f-for yours as a goddamn _consolation_.” It was threaded with threat and malice. He wiped some sweat away.

Flowey couldn't really see Sans due to his position behind the tree. After the monster's first encounter with Frisk, and they ran headlong into the woods without any direction, the flower had told the boy his plan. Ambush Sans with the branch, disable him, then run. Unfortunately, the boy took it into his own hands. Now there was no way to help him, no advice he could give. He hoped the boy would find some way to triumph in the way he wanted to. Flowey was rooting for him, but it was a fool's errand. Worry branded itself on his face as he cursed his placement. He wanted to see the villain, but from the sounds of it, it was probably a death wish for him to be out in the open. Perhaps it was Frisk's idea to put the flower behind the tree for that very reason. Flowey contemplated this silently as he watched half of the scene unfold before him.

Frisk shoved his hands into his armpits, increasingly aware of the temperature, “Sans, don--”

Sans yelled once again, cutting him off, “shut the fuck up! you d-don't get to say my n-name anymore you... y-you... crybaby asshole!” The insults would not stop, the snow appeared to ripple outwards from the skeleton, then he continued once it became as quiet as the grave, “i'll sew your m-motherfuckin' mouth _**shut**_.”

Frisk swallowed hard at that, but finally stopped edging his way backwards and stood his ground. He had to, no matter how afraid he was. At that moment, he refused to give in to the egotistical monster. He would not go quietly. He would speak to him, knock sense into him, do anything if he had to. All at once he was filled with the warm feeling of determination. Once again, the woes of Frisk were shoved aside in favor of being brave. He still shook. The only one who needed real saving was the monster some feet in front of him, who now gave out a small laugh.

“it was f-fun kid.” Sans snarled.

Then, a flash of red-hued light surrounded him. It heralded the end. It ripped violently at his clothes and skin, searing Frisk to his very core. It was over promptly. The child didn't have a chance to scream before he was vaporized from the intense beam of light. He felt fire around him, until his vision completely faded away into the void. He saw his soul then, radiance all but gone, shatter into fine pieces.

**RESET**

“it was f-fun kid.” Sans snarled.

Frisk looked up just in time to see a horrific amalgamation suspended in midair, mouth agape. The boy felt a sensation deep within his gut, screaming at him, pounding at his core to move, to do anything. It came quickly, he moved quickly. As he leaped to safety nearby, he heard a horrible crashing noise from just behind him. The laser had missed him by mere inches. Melted snow and black ash claimed where he was, and for some reason, he felt sick at the sight. He wasn't sure why, though. It was lucky that his instinct was to move.

“heh. nice.” He heard Sans say. He raised an arm ever so slightly.

Flowey saw it happen. The boy was there, hands in knees buried in the snow, looking back to where he had just avoided certain death. He was open. Without warning, several white spears jutted out of the ground with astonishing speed. The flower shrieked as Frisk was run through all over his body, lifting him slightly off the ground. He was suspended in some macabre scene, blood forcing its way out of his wounds. The flower yelled at the boy, berating him, telling him they should have ran, that the monster was evil and always would be. He twitched a bit in response, and Flowey could only watch as his soul, that once looked so vibrant in the face of such an adversary, crumbled away into nothing.

“ _No!_ ”

**RESET**

“heh. nice.” He heard Sans say. He raised an arm ever so slightly.

Frisk's body wrenched itself to the side, as if coaxed by some abstract knowledge. He was a bit slow, one of the several spears that thrust out of the ground catching his sleeve. It cleanly ran through his sweater. It effectively trapped him there for a couple of long seconds, as he struggled against his own clothing. With a satisfying ripping noise that destroyed his sleeve entirely, he moved to look at Sans.

“Stop doing this. I don' wanna fight you.” Frisk huffed defiantly, breathing tired and ragged, “An' I know you don' wanna fight me. No' really.”

Flowey stifled a breath somewhere off to the side. He was impressed by the scene, Frisk seemed to have some sort of weird, prior knowledge of the attacks being thrown at him. He didn't even have a scratch! You wouldn't have even been able to tell he was in a fight if his sleeve wasn't torn to shreds.

Sans kept sweating, “y-you... don't know ssh- _shit_.” His anger flared again, “you're just some-- just some f-fuckin _kid_.”

The skeleton doubted that. He wouldn't give the child the satisfaction, nonetheless. His psyche wobbled tumultuously. His grin twitched. One hand clenched into a tight fist in his pocket, the opposite going to make a swipe through the air. _Gotcha_ , he thought, self-satisfied. There was no way the kid would survive this.

Another of the creatures – or machines, Frisk wasn't sure – emerged from what appeared to be nothing, on the other side of Sans. It was like it had come forth from some dense fog, but through Frisk's stressed eyes and cold-stained face he couldn't be sure where it came from. It was there now; _they_ were there now, both looming over him. They foretold death. Frisk could see into the inky depths of them. It would have been hilariously ironic, seeing as how the only light they could produce destroyed and took away, had he been in a position to laugh. He was losing feeling in his fingers now, snow biting away at his delicate skin.

The intensity went both ways, “Don't. I... I m-might be a kid,” he steadied himself, “but 'm a good list'ner.”

Sans frowned inwardly. What was he fucking doing? He was killing the brat that thought he would be wise to cross him. It was stupid and disgustingly cowardly to do something like this. But it definitely gave him a rise. How long would it last? Forever. He wouldn't be able to sleep, that's for sure. He was never a killer. There was no reason he couldn't start now though. When would he stop after that? Abandoning all scruples, or whatever passable code he kept as a substitute, for even a moment. It didn't matter. It _did_ matter, doing what he was doing, it would change him. Right? Yes, it fucking would. His brother changed, that bitch he talked to did, everyone he knew did. Humans were just... necessary. Tools needed to dismantle that godforsaken barrier that trapped them down in the depths of the earth like animals. They didn't fall into the spectrum, surely.

Then what did?

“Good,” He cracked.

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always everyone, thank you so much for reading my little thing! I honestly adore everyone who gives me a bit of time haha. I update my Tumblr as regularly as possible so, please, if you liked what you read consider giving me a follow! 
> 
> cyclops--writes.tumblr.com


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